What’s your time?

I have learned that finishing a marathon, brings a certain cache. My “cache day” came on Oct. 30, 2011, when I ran the Marine Corps Marathon in Washington, D.C. A 230-pound, 47-year-old man, who started running over a year before. A self admitted terrible runner, who finished a marathon.

It seems that completing a marathon affords one a special standing on this planet. Hoisted onto a podium, like a gladiator returning from a glorious and victorious battle, my athletic acumen was trumpeted and held high as a banner of magnificence. Accolades spewed forth like spray from Niagara Falls as I was elevated to the status of superstar, floating on cloud of triumph, permanently suspended in air by admiration and awe.

To those who do not run, completing a race of any distance is remarkable, but completing a marathon is simply beyond the realm of comprehension. Non-runners reject the possibility that they could propel themselves 42.2 kilometres by any means other than pistons and carburetors, much less on their own legs.

I am told that this group makes up 98 per cent of the population. To them the marathon is a mysterious and unexplained phenomenon. They truly believe that they are incapable of completing a marathon and consequently someone like me, just by virtue of finishing a marathon, is viewed with admiration.

Since the marathon is such a mystery to most, finishing is an accomplishment to be lauded and cheered. Fortunately for me, time is irrelevant to the 98 per cent. The non-runner sees a marathoner in a new and glorious light. Whether it takes four, five, or more than six hours (as was my case) time doesn’t matter.

Yet, how quickly the bubble of euphoria and pride can be burst. One need only speak to someone in the two per cent, who has also completed a marathon to have the delusion of magnificence corrected and checked. Where non-runners greet with a deafening roar involving adjectives such as “fantastic, unbelievable, awesome, and remarkable,” the experienced runner deflates the ego and humbles the amateur slow marathon runner with just four words: “What was your time?”

And make no mistake, the two per cent care mightily about time. They must know how long it took to finish. There is no deflection nor escaping the question. As the cold sweat starts and the hollow empty feeling in the stomach sets in, one cannot escape the penetrating and griping commitment the two per cent have in learning our time.

As quickly as one can bask in the adoration of non-runners, so are our egos humbled by the two per cent. As quickly as we were elevated to the status of super star, we find ourselves, once again, relegated back to the sidelines, looking in. Once victorious, strong and confident, we are reduced to observers, marginalized like the insecure teen who isn’t wearing deodorant.

To the two per cent, there are only those with good times and all the rest. Save for heart attack or death, no excuse will be satisfactory to explain why it might have taken so long to finish the marathon. To the two per cent, it is inconsequential that my Achilles heel exploded at 32 kilometres, requiring me to drag myself like a wounded animal for two and a half hours to complete just 10 kilometres. It is irrelevant that my running mate had only trained up to 14 kilometres and that he was fighting nausea, fatigue, delirium, cramps and likely an emotional breakdown for the last 22 kilometres. If your time is not a “decent” time or better, then the look in their eyes will expose you as a fraud and an imposter.

Regardless how the question is phrased — “What was your time?” “How fast were you?” or “How long did it take you?” — the question alone carries the potential to crush and destroy. That one dreaded query exposes the slow marathoner as undeserving of the accolades heaped upon him or her. That one unforgiving question is the nuclear bomb for the slow marathoner.

Although the consequence of the question is the same, the motivation for the question among the two per cent differs. Uber runners, for instance, those who complete a full marathon between two and three hours, actually don’t ask the question, because they don’t care. So incredibly fast are these people the only time that matters is their time, and that of the other Ubers (also known as elite). If your time is significant, they will already know it, because you would have been the competition. If they ask the question, it’s not because they are interested, but more likely because they are being polite. By the time you answer, they have long forgotten why they were talking to you in the first place and have begun mentally preparing their next run.

Of the two per cent who finish a marathon between three and four hours, the question is not asked to puncture egos. These are Naturals. Even without training they will run fast because that’s what they were born to do. Although the Naturals are not as lightening fast as the Ubers, they are still very fast.

The Naturals are simply showing a genuine interest when asking the time question, much like children asking the names of others in the park. There is no nefarious or judgmental motivation to the query. It is interesting to respond to the question from a Natural, because telling a Natural it took over six hours to complete a marathon doesn’t emote contempt or disdain, it simply confounds. They just don’t understand. Their head will usually tilt to one side as their eyes glaze over in a look of bewilderment. You can almost see steam as their brain tries to process the fact that they could have started running with you, stopped mid run to watch a full length motion picture, maybe even had a shower before the movie started, and still have finished before you.

The next group, those who run a marathon between four and five hours, are particularly interesting. I call these the Cusp Runners, because they have trained so hard and improved so much that they are on the cusp of greatness. Their commitment has allowed them to finish a marathon faster than Mortals (those who run a marathon in five-six hours), and they sit on the edge of the greatness of the Naturals.

Having shown the commitment and perseverance to elevate themselves out of the Mortal class, the Cusps are not interested in sharing the spotlight with an imposter. After all, theirs is a genuine success story. Their time is the product of hard work and sacrifice. The question from the Cusp runners is therefore meant to put things right. The question is meant to squarely remind the imposter that they take the sport seriously and do not appreciate impostors misappropriating the accolades for themselves. To the Cusps, impostors are no better than people who try to butt into the security screening line at the airport.

Since the sport is generally a collegial one, nothing more follows the query from the Cusps. To say more would simply be too obvious. Most Cusp runners will leave the question as it is, knowing that the question alone will have been enough to deflate the imposter. However, there are certain Cusps for whom this is not enough. These are the one’s who are intent on not only on deflating but shaming the imposter for daring to appropriate any accolade. Theirs is a clever approach, in true passive aggressive fashion they will wait patiently for the imposter to finally spurt out his excuses and justifications and then respond with “Well, at least you finished”. They say this with the same tone that an adult uses with a child who colours outside the lines, clapping their hands together, raising them to their chin saying “it’s just so pretty.”

The Mortals, those who finish the marathon between five and six hours are the most enjoyable of the runner classes to speak to, because they know that but for the grace of god they could have been me. Their reaction is genuine elation that someone was slower than them and that they are not me.

Five and a half months after finishing the marathon, my heel has started to relent and I can run again. It is like starting new and I can appreciate that as slow as I was I had made huge inroads into this new world. No regrets and lots of thanks to my wife for inspiring me to do what I did. I may not do any more distance running, but at least I can say that I reached my goal and crossed the finish line. The odd thing is that there is something pulling me to do another and to do it right. To commit myself, train properly and then maybe, just maybe, I can be a Mortal.

Chris Spiteri, an Ottawa lawyer, is the founder of Spiteri and Ursulak LLP. He started running in 2010 and has finished six half marathons, a 30K and a full marathon. He and his wife, Jane, have four children.

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